


Barters paid for in anguish

by isasolan



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Afterlife, Brotherhood, F/M, Gen, Gift of Iluvatar, Halls of Mandos, Happy Ending, Otherworldly situation, Regrets, Sibling Love, Unfair treatement, failed romance, soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isasolan/pseuds/isasolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aegnor is already in the Halls of Mandos when Lúthien is granted the Gift of Men, to his immense shock. Will he also let this chance pass him by?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barters paid for in anguish

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from tumblr.  
> Aikanáro=Aegnor, Ango/Angaráto=Angrod, Findaráto/Ingoldo=Finrod, Arafinwë=Finarfin  
> See [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/896848) for Babyráto.
> 
> Italics denote thought-speech.

_...Ango. Ango, are you there?_

_I am here, as always._

_Do you see? Ango, do you see?_

Hearing rather than seeing. The silver fëa that is Lúthien is singing, her clear voice echoed throughout  the Unending Halls. She sings of love, and of sorrow, and of two lovers sundered forever. One of the Eldar, the other of the Atani. If Aikanáro had eyes, he would weep. He feels Ango's fëa close to his, surrounding him, attempting to soothe him. Their lights mingle, the only contact possible in this ethereal state.

_Wait_

_What_

Aikanáro shakes Ango's fëa away and rises in wrath and despair.

_She is granted the Gift? We may be granted the Gift?_

Lúthien is so joyous her laughter turns to song by the Door of Light. Even Mandos the ever-stern smiles at the sight. Aegnor screams.

_Why was I not told?_

By the time he reaches Lúthien the Door is closed. If Aegnor had a body, he would crash against it. His fëa shatters with a flash of lightning when he hurls himself against it. He screams in agony as it reassembles from the scattered form. Yet he hits the Door, again, and again, despite the blinding pain.

_Open the Door! Námo! Open the Door!_

The Vala seizes his spirit in his pale hands like one would seize a child. Aikanáro kicks, and fights, but he is not set free.

"I cannot open this Door, Child. Only Eru may do that."

_Call him again! Let me in! Tell him I too must go through!_

"No Elda may cross the Gate."

_Yet Lúthien crossed! Why not I?_

"Her moving tale and tragic fate softened Eru's heart. She has been granted this Grace by His Own Will."

_I too loved a mortal! I told you! I told you all! Why did you not say this was possible? Open the Door, Námo! I wish to reunite with Andreth._

The Vala's eyes are cold as the Ice. "Aye, you told me all. What wonder was there in your tale? You turned from her. You dared not love. You chose your fate, Child."

 _I did not know!_ Aegnor's screams roll on the ethereal walls as piercingly as Lúthien's song had. _I did not know!_

Námo's hands are heavy when he turns him over. The sensation is that of sleep. Aikanáro fights furiously against it, but feels his senses dull one by one.

"Are you his brother?" he hears the Vala ask. He can perceive the gold of Ango's fëa nearby.

 _I am, Lord. You have deceived us cruelly_.

"This is not my doing, Children," Námo says, and Aikanáro hears nothing more.

 

*

_I did not know. I did not know. I did not know._

This all Aikanáro can think of. He swings his fëa back and forth but it brings no comfort. Sometimes Ango holds him, and mingles with him, but Aikanáro finds no comfort in this either.

_I did not know. I did not know. I did not know._

He dares not even look at the Tapestries, not any more. They had a child, a merry little boy. They are happy and fair, the three of them. They live what he dared not live.

_I did not know. I did not know. I did not know._

 

 

*

Ingoldo's fëa stumbles upon theirs, out of nowhere.

 _Did you know? Did you know?_ Aikanáro screams.

Findaráto cowers, and answers not.

_Why did you aid them and not us? Not me? Your own brother!_

The golden light of his brother curls like a frightened child. Aikanáro sees only guilt.

_Why did you forsake me!_

_Stop_ , Ango says, shining between them. _He is not yet recovered. He is not himself. You are hurting him._

_He hurt me! Whose side are you on?_

_Yours, brother. But not like this._

Findaráto’s fëa flees, and never seeks them again.

 

*

Giving up is for the craven and those who relish in despairing. Aikanáro is none. The Gate of Light is shut, yet he stands in front of it.

_Eru! Ilúvatar!_

Nothing happens.

_Ilúvatar! I summon you! Father! Take pity on your Child!_

The Door remains shut.

 

*

_Ilúvatar! I call Your Name! Eru, heed my words!_

“Eru cannot hear you, Child,” Námo tells him, again and again. “He does not dwell here.”

Aikanáro ignores him. _Eru!!_ If he had a throat, it would be raw from the screaming.

He feels Angaráto’s fëa nearby, resting peacefully. A faithful guard. It keeps him strong when he falters.

_Eru, hear your child!_

 

*

He thinks of his father, for the first time in a long time, though time cannot be grasped in the Halls. Arafinwë, fair of face and smiling, holding him in his arms when he was a child. He remembers his father’s kisses. He remembers tugging at his robes to be picked up, and wailing when he did not until he relented. What father would let their child cry?

Eru would, apparently.

_Ilúvatar, father mine! I beg you to listen!_

His voice wavers and breaks with the sobs, but he does not stop calling him.

 

*

 _I want to live again_ , Ango says abruptly. _I miss the Sun. I miss Lótë._

_Do not leave me, not now!_

His brother’s fëa dims as if he were pained. _Ask me not to stay, brother of my heart. Will you not come with me? Will we not run together, as we always have?_

 _My place is with Andreth,_ Aikanáro cries _. I cannot follow you. Stay a little longer._

_I cannot! It wounds me to see you do this to yourself. You mean to leave me anyway._

It feels as if something deflates in his spirit. It is true. If he ever crosses the Door, he will be sundered from Ango. He curls his light into a ball, like Findaráto, so long ago, and whimpers. _I will never see you._

Ango encircles him. _But I will always love you._

 _And I you._ If they had lips, Aikanáro would kiss him.

_Goodbye, Babyráto._

 

*

How long his fëa stays curled into a ball of light, he is not certain. He remembers his brother, and every little detail of all that they have shared. Tears and laughter and anguish and merriment and anger and love. Perhaps it is worth returning, he thinks. For Ango. But when he looks up he sees the Door, and the faint light behind. No, he may not give up. He never will. Eru will heed him one day. He has to.

_Ilúvatar! I call your name! I beg you to listen!_

 

*

The Halls feel emptier, little by little, but Aikanáro stills shouts.

 

*

_Ilúvatar, father mine! Heed my words!_

The Doors open with a cry he has shouted a thousand times. Why they open, he does not know. His fëa leaps to brightness and trembles in the light flooding the Halls.

“Child,” a voice says, gentle and kind. Not unlike Arafinwë’s. “What would you have of me?”

_Eru?_

“Yes, Child. Why did you call? What seek you behind this door?”

_I seek Andreth. I seek the love I failed to live. Please, Father. Will you not let me in?_

“But I have,” the Voice says, and Aikanáro steps into the light.


End file.
